


Cathedral Where You Cannot Breathe

by sovereign thunder (old_gods_of_asgard)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, The Little Mermaid AU, evil!crowley, lighthouse keeper cas, mermaid au, mermaid balthazar, possessed!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 01:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2048082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/old_gods_of_asgard/pseuds/sovereign%20thunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lonely young mer in love with a lighthouse keeper makes a deal with a less than generous sea spirit: his voice in exchange for a pair of legs in order to woo the human he loves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. looking up from underneath

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, this story is something I've been working on since January. It was written for notyourjudas, a Balthazar RPer on tumblr, in better days. It was posted there first, but as she deleted that blog and moved, it doesn't currently exist anywhere else. It's the first fic I've finished writing in a long time.
> 
> This is a mermaid story. It was made by me. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

Castiel expects a few things after the storm. Fish washed up on the rocks, choppy waters, maybe some old garbage floating by. He expects it to be harsher than it actually is, because he's always prepared; he steels himself, watches the seas with terror in his heart as per usual. He expects the lighthouse to be washed away at any moment, because he's always convinced it will be when there's a sudden storm.  
  
Castiel expects a lot of things, but a _person_ is not one of them. Castiel's not even sure it's a person at first, because all he sees is fog and waves; he squints, leans forward, glares into the deep and - yes, yes. That is _definitely_ a person, he realizes. Blond, naked, shivering. There's blood smeared over his skin, blood that should've been washed away with the sea, but it's highly likely it happened when he was lying on the rocks. Castiel tries to figure out what happened; he wasn't aware any ships were even coming near him.  
  
But he can't leave the poor guy out there. Eventually he'll realize there's a lighthouse and Castiel can't exactly pretend he can't see the entire small, rocky island from where he is; he slips on a windbreaker and a hat, gathers his tan trench coat into his arms and heads out. The man doesn't react to his presence for a while, not until Castiel is almost on him. The keeper stops four feet short and waits for a minute before asking, "Excuse me, are - are you alright?"  
  
The man flinches, hands over his face like he's trying to protect them from the ocean spray. Slowly he turns to look at Castiel, and -  
  
Oh.  
  
 _Oh._ He's - okay, and Castiel's never thought this before, about anyone, but - he's breathtaking. Eyes the color of storm clouds reflecting the sea, bright blond hair, cheekbones as high as the tide. His breath catches in his throat as their eyes lock; he could drown in those eyes.  
  
Castiel wants to continue staring, to map every bone in his body, catalogue every scratch. But he's a gentleman first, full of honor and all that good gravy - he won't. "Are you alright," he repeats, voice quieter this time and lost in the spray. The man's gaze drops to Castiel's feet, eyes his legs like they're the most amazing thing he's ever seen. The stranger shakes his head like it's a chore to move, and turns back to the sea.  
  
 _At least,_ Castiel silently praises, _at least he can understand me._ He unfurls the coat and steps forward slowly. "My name is Castiel Krushnic. I, I work there, live there, in the lighthouse. I've brought - you can - is it okay if I - ?" a million and one questions and he can't get them out. The man stares at the sea, but he nods. He's waiting on Castiel, who crouches behind him to drape the trench coat over his shoulders. He helps him put his arms through the sleeves, wraps the coat around him and, when he's sure the man isn't going to hit him or push him, makes to help him stand.  
  
It's a chore, and it causes more than a few voiceless hisses. He's just so pitiful and drained, thin and worn down and Castiel is strong, stronger still due to his occupation; he picks the wounded stranger up, bridal-style, and carries him to the lighthouse. Warmth rushes to him when arms wrap tightly around his neck. He can feel every shudder and smell the sea salt in his hair and blood on his back. By the time they enter the lighthouse, Castiel knows that if he should touch his stomach, should put his hands on those hips, that the skin there would be raw and soft and warm. He doesn't though, because he really shouldn't.  
  
He carries the shivering mess to his bathroom, not sure if he should take him to the bed first to warm up. Castiel sets him down in the tub and peels the coat off of him. "I'm just going to wash your back off," he explains gently when the man pulls his knees up to hide his face, wraps his arms around his thighs. He gives no further acknowledgement and, since he hasn't fought Castiel yet, Castiel figures he trusts the keeper's actions are for the best. Castiel turns the shower on and uses the detachable head to wash away blood, sand and pebbles. There's minimal bleeding, the skin on his back not as soft or clear as the skin on his legs. On his back is a scar, in the shape of two jagged lines pointing down to make a 'v' that doesn't ever meet - they look painful - and there are a few nicks here and there. Castiel doesn't bother asking about them.  
  
"Do you have a name?" He asks. The man nods, but when he gets no verbal answers he tries, "Have you always been mute? Do you know, like...sign language? How to write? How-how to _read_?" Obviously, this guy was an amnesiac, because he shook his head at every other question. But he knew his name; how could he remember his name? Castiel finishes cleaning him off and grabs his bathrobe to cover the poor guy up, picking him up again and carrying him into his bedroom. He lays him down propped against the headboard and moves back to pull the computer chair from under his desk.  
  
"Alright, so. Obviously you can't talk. But you know your name," the man nods again in confirmation, "but you know how others talk. And you can't write. So, how about we try this: you mouth your name for me, so I have something to call you other than 'hey, you', okay?"  
  
The man nods, breathes out a sigh that sounds...strange. Castiel's used to hearing a person's voice even in their sigh; to have no sound whatsoever is bizarre to him, foreign even. The man turns to better look at him, crosses his legs and leans forward a little with his arms rested on his knees. He takes a moment to make sure Castiel's paying attention and then begins: his mouth begins to form the words slowly. Syllable by syllable he mouths, and Castiel copies out loud: "Bal", "tha", "zar'. He messes up "tha" and it comes out "ta", and the way his frustrated guest handles it is nothing short of telling, showing Castiel the tip of his tongue pressed to the back of his teeth until Castiel understands what he means. He's lost and confused, but he's cleverer than Castiel would have expected him to.  
  
"Balthazar," he repeats out loud and then a few more times to himself, feeling that same warmth in his chest when the other's eyes shine with excitement and he smiles. Balthazar, Balthazar - a strange name, lovely but peculiar; Biblical like Castiel's should be, but demonic in origin. If this guy is a demon, Castiel thinks, the Bible needs some serious revision.  
  
"I'm going to find you something to wear," Castiel stands up. "I can make you something to eat, too. Probably be a day or two before I can call anyone to come and get you or...I don't know. Track down your place or something. Your people. If you have people." He finds clean socks, underwear, pajama pants, and a worn grey v-neck. All soft and well-worn nothing to irritate the little scratches he's covered in. When he turns back around, Balthazar is has his hair between his fingers and is inspecting it with a strange curiosity, like he's never seen hair before. To be fair, he just washed up on Castiel's little island during a surprise storm, so it's not unlikely he doesn't know a whole lot.  
  
Castiel lays the clothing down, one by one, telling him, "Socks, put these on last. On your feet. Underwear first, pants over that, shirt before socks - " he lays each article out side by side, touching what he's wearing as he says it, lifting his shirt up to show him the waistband of his own boxers. When Balthazar nods, confirming he does understand, Castiel smiles at him and leaves to give him some privacy.  
  
  
Balthazar watches Castiel leave the room and lets out a relieved sigh he didn't know he was holding in. It worked. It _worked_. Oh, Crowley had been telling the truth - he was human now. Sure, he couldn't _talk_ , but - but who _cared_? He was human. And he was with that stupidly handsome human now, too.  
  
Sure, it was still going to take a little work. What little magic he had wasn't for love spells; he couldn't wiggle his fingers and enthrall anyone, human or mer. But he wasn't stupid, he'd work something out. And his family would -  
  
 - his family. He'd never see his family again, he realized. Maybe. Unless they found a seaspirit, made a similar deal. Oh, but his father'd been so angry with him when he'd told him about this human - Castiel. What a beautiful name. Well. His father would understand, eventually. He hoped.  
  
Balthazar managed to dress himself without getting up, but every movement in his legs _hurt_. Another thing Crowley hadn't lied about; most of him was brand new and tender and difficult to use. Before pulling the pants on he took a moment to run his hands over his brand new body parts, to feel his legs. He'd never felt anything so soft and smooth before; even the sand at the bottom of the sea didn't compare. Balthazar had seen Castiel, though, had seen him strip down to nothing and wade into the ocean and swim in it. He was _not_ smooth, or pale, or thin, and Balthazar couldn't wait to feel every inch of him, either.  
  
"Balthazar?" He feels a flutter in his chest at the sound of his name and stands, slowly, barely holding back a wince at the intense pain he felt. He manages it, though, easily capable of hiding his agony, and follows the sound of Castiel's voice. "I'm in the kitchen, buddy." Balthazar didn't know what a kitchen was, but there were some things a change in species could not tear from him; his magic was one of them, his superb senses were another. Humans were woefully fragile and unskilled, he'd learned, and had no natural ability to catch or follow an echo. Maybe they could learn to, though, and if they could, well, Balthazar was going to teach Castiel.  
  
"Hey, I'm making lunch," Castiel explains. Balthazar doesn't know what a lunch is, but he nods and sits down on a stool near the window. There are little figures all along it, ones that Balthazar's seen before; they were in a box in a small wreck near this very island. Twelve years ago now he'd found them, his first gift to this strange man. For some reason that made him beam - he wasn't used to people keeping his gifts for very long. Maybe things lasted longer on the surface. "It's gonna be rather simple, I'm afraid, because I usually get stuff brought to me here. But this storm came up and, I don't think they're going to be on time. But I have a few things left."  
  
Balthazar feels a little bad, because he knows the storm wouldn't have happened if he hadn't made his deal. But Castiel doesn't seem mad; he's humming softly to himself as he cooks. As he does, Balthazar goes back to studying the little figurines and the view from the window; the waters look very strange from above, but the view is so beautiful. He reaches up and touches his hair again, marveling at the strange feeling. So many new things he's going to get to try now, he knows, and hopefully he'll get to try them with Castiel.  
  
"Balthazar," Castiel puts a hand on his shoulder, and damn if he wouldn't fall in love again just because of how Castiel says his name. "It's ready. I already ate, before I found you; I've gotta go do some checks. I'll just be...30, maybe, 30 minutes. Okay?"  
  
Balthazar gives him a reassuring smile and nod, enchanted with the way that he moves when he leaves. He eats because Castiel asked him to, but finds the strange food doesn't taste as bad as he thought it would, but finds he can't finish it; when he's halfway done with it he gets up, wanders around the place. He's always been curious and though he should be courteous and sit still and wait, maybe, he can't find it in him to; he wants to explore, to learn more about this place. He'd partially lied when he'd told Castiel he couldn't read; he could read just fine, he just didn't recognize most human words. Mer had a very different way of reading and writing and he'd only learned a few human languages because some mer spoke them. It was also, to him, nice to be able to read the names of ships that went down.  
  
Nothing in Castiel's house besides clothing and a few strange shaped objects he really recognized. What he'd been eating out of he did, but no mer knew the name of them; hollow half-spheres and flat discs weren't part of their culture. Balthazar'd seen air contained, trapped and bubbling up, but seeing _water_ contained - in an cylinder with one end open, that was...bizarre. Baffling, almost. And he was used to the taste and texture and color of water, but the kind Castiel had given him was an almost black color and bubbled. It burned going down, in a good way, made him feel bubbly.  
  
Balthazar moved around what he supposed was the 'main' room of Castiel's home. Things he knew: the window, the door, hallway, floor, ceiling, windowsill, table. There were a lot of tables, some thicker, softer, covered in a weird cloth; some with many shelves and very peculiar items lining it. One had a thin, rectangle shaped box; Balthazar couldn't puzzle out what that was supposed to be. That one was surrounded by so many other weird shaped and colored boxes it gave him a headache; instead he turned to a table next to the strange, soft one and shinier, silver box. This one had two smaller boxes next to it similar in size but covered in a darker grey, fishnet-like material. This box isn't plain; however, it has a few oddly-shaped knobs on it and a brightly colored display. Balthazar sounds the letters out slowly, to himself, trying to make sense of the word printed on it: E, S, P, O, S, T, H, U, M, U, S.  
  
'POST' was a word he recognized. 'E.S.' was not, nor was 'Humus', and he wonders if that changed how 'POST' was supposed to sound; his mother had said humans were strange, and their weird languages could have two words look identical and not be pronounced the same. Not all languages, but that baffled Balthazar; how could you keep up with a language that constantly changed pronunciation?  
  
Balthazar reaches out and touches a few of the knobs, turns them right and left. The smaller one turns smoothly but the larger feels like it's hitting bumps somewhere inside of the box every so often; when he tires of that, he starts pressing other buttons to see what they'd do. One button, two triangles layered together with a bar in front, changes the smaller words under E.S.POSTHUMUS. A button similar to it makes them shift backwards, and he goes until he's back to the first title; there are two buttons like them but without bars in front of the triangles that he doesn't mess with, a button with a solid box on it, one with a circle, and one with a singular triangle pointing at two lines. The box and circle appear to do nothing, but the triangle button does; when he pushes it, sound comes out of the two smaller boxes.  
  
It's too loud and sudden at first and he scrambles back from it, terrified. Castiel either can't hear the noise or isn't bothered by it, because he doesn't come down to investigate; when his heart and nerves have settled, Balthazar sits in a slightly more comfortable position, legs crossed over each other, and watches the box. The sounds it makes are...nice. Beautiful. No words come but it's soothing to hear, like his mother's humming; he closes his eyes and leans forward, wanting to be touched by those sounds. He takes pleasure in knowing all the beautiful things he's heard today; Castiel's voice saying his name, the waves hitting rocks, and...this. Whatever _this_ is. It gives him chills, the good kind of chills.  
  
"I see you've found the radio," Castiel's voice brings him back down to earth. He's turned the sounds down and is smiling. "Music, and my favorite kind. All instruments. That's one of my favorite bands." He crosses in front of Balthazar to sit on the soft table, and begins pointing at parts of it. "Speakers. Radio portion. Don't ever pull at these wires in the back, dude, or it'll mess everything up and I might cry." Balthazar frowns at that and Castiel chuckles. "I'm kidding. This big button is volume, little button changes the stations. It gets good reception most of the time, but this storm is fucking with everything. This skips ahead in songs, this one skips back; hold this or this down to move through parts of the song without skipping them completely. This is stop, this is pause, this is record - don't ever bother with it, I don't know why it's there - and the play-pause button. Push it to pause," he presses his finger to it and the sound - the music - stops. "Push it to play. You probably already figured that out."  
  
Balthazar folds his hands together in his lap as Castiel gives him this little lesson. He likes what he's heard on this little radio, and will probably enjoy more, and he wants to be able to _use_ this if he gets the chance to stay here. He prays to Lir that it is.


	2. mermaids are sleeping, dreaming of breathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and Chapter 3 were originally one chapter, but I split them up for reasons.
> 
> It's sad I come up with more (not perfect, just more) lore for my fics than I do my original stories. Translation key is at the bottom; chapter title is from the song "Mermaids" by Midnight.
> 
> Note about the language and lore: it's terrible, it's brief, I still love it. Anna talks like someone ran a sentence in English through Google Translate, then translated it back to English, and I love it, mmhmm.

For two weeks, Balthazar stays with Castiel. It's not as though anyone hasn't _tried_ to take him off the island.  A rather handsome, if infuriating, man named Sheriff Victor Hendricksen tried _twice_. The first time, they made it all the way to something called a "hospital" before Balthazar escaped. He walked backwards through a group of people of people coming in and made his way to the road, drawing a crude lighthouse on a piece of paper for a couple of fisherman to take him to. The second time, Balthazar didn't _actually_ leave the little island; it wasn't until Castiel and Victor were about halfway to the docks before they realized he _wasn't_ on the little boat and was, in fact, watching them from the shore, pleased as punch at his stunt.  
  
After that, Victor gave up. The sheriff didn't so much permit Balthazar to stay as he just kind of gave up trying to get him off of it. Victor had tried plenty of things, including attempting to take his fingerprints. This was an act that baffled Balthazar, because they did not physically take anything. This may have been because they didn't actually _find_ any fingerprints. Balthazar still doesn't know what fingerprints are beyond the fact that he doesn't have them. After that, he had taken a picture of him (something he'd seen tourists do on the beach, but with different shaped cubes) and it had brought back nothing despite calls to every nearby costal town. Castiel had explained that they were compairing his face to any missing persons they could. That amused him to no end.  
  
In the end, Victor had decided that if he was going to be safe anywhere, it was on the small island. The dock wasn't big enough for large ships, and the lighthouse was hard to break into. And Balthazar _enjoyed_ his time on the island, with Castiel. He enjoyed learning about the things in his house, developing a bias towards music and video games and books.  
  
Castiel also cut his hair, which is a strange feeling for him. But they made a deal - because Balthazar didn't know how to care for his hair outside of the ocean. It'd never been important to him. But now, now it was _short_. Not necessarily a bad feeling, even if he missed his long hair. Otherwise, Balthazar thoroughly enjoyed his time with Castiel, even if the idiot wouldn't look his way twice. The only thing he didn't enjoy was meeting Dean.  
  
Dean Winchester was, as far as Balthazar could tell, Castiel's only other friend or contact. He brought food once a month, and visited every two weeks or so with books or games or other things Castiel requested. He wasn't impolite but he was gruff and distant, not terribly friendly or personable. He seemed to get along with Castiel; from what Balthazar had gleaned from eavesdropping, Castiel kept boats from sinking and that somehow benefited Dean. Balthazar didn't exactly like him but he supposed Castiel could do worse company-wise.  
  
Dean had been to the island at least four times in the two weeks between Balthazar's arrival and present time, though, because of some little festival coming up. There were going to be other people coming and going on the little island (which, according to Castiel, almost never happens), and Dean was bringing out things they'd need. Victor, too, but mostly Dean, and where Victor was always sweet and spoke to Balthazar like he was an equal, Dean tended to avoid him. Balthazar doesn’t know what he’s done to bother someone he’d never met before. People were weird.  
  
Balthazar holds no interest in the gathering, but Castiel does. Balthazar helps out when he's asked to but for the most part, he keeps to himself, watches Dean and Castiel and Victor fuss over tables and clothes and strange dishes. Mostly, though, he watches Castiel. To say he's enchanted would be something of an understatement; he's never seen a mer or man like him before. Sure, looks wise he's rather normal - dark hair, blue eyes, that whole thing - but he's...gentle. He has hands that could tear Balthazar apart and he's so careful with him when he shows him around. He teaches Balthazar, shows him how to run the lighthouse because he's somehow convinced that Balthazar will be on the island with him forever. Balthazar wants to be, but he'd need Castiel's _kiss_ \- such a dumb thing to bargain for, because how is that anymore a symbol of true love than any of these things Castiel's done for or shown to him?  
  
It occurs to him that perhaps he should be honest, maybe prove to Castiel what's going on by summoning a sprite or conjuring a wave. Knowing his luck, Castiel'd be the one thrown in a boat and ferried away, and beyond that he couldn't speak to tell him. He could write it but he doesn't know how to write, could maybe sign it - Castiel's taken then initiative to learn sign language with him, something that baffles Balthazar. As far as he can tell it's just a complicated set of gestures, but at least he has a way of communicating with Castiel that isn't just shaking his head or throwing objects at him.  
  
Yeah, Balthazar thinks as Castiel finally wanders away from his friends to sit with him. Castiel's great. Now, if he could just get him to _kiss_ him, for real -  
  
"Hey," Castiel puts a hand on his knee and gives it a good shake. "Just about done. Tomorrow the people come, set up their booths and pretty much squat on my rock for three days. Gonna be _sooo_ much fun." Balthazar makes a face that must look funny, because Castiel laughs. "But it's still just us for a few more hours. So, I was thinking, I figured you're not amnesiac and were just, maybe, I dunno. Somewhere on a boat." He makes a dismissve gesture with one hand while reaching down with the other to thread their fingers together. "So, I guess, I don't know. You get what I'm saying, right?  
  
"Anyway, I got this crazy idea in my head that maybe you'd wanna take a swim? I can teach you if you don't know how to."  
  
Swimming? Oh, the way Castiel says it makes it sound quaint, like a novelty - as though Balthazar wouldn't swim every day if he could. If he got his way, if he got his kiss, he was never leaving the seaside. Despite the ever present agony in his legs he stood, practically hopping to his feet. Castiel laughed again but it wasn't like before, a nicer sound. Balthazar wanted to hear more of _that_ laugh. "Take that as a yes." He held tightly to Balthazar's hand, led him towards the shore. The idea of being in water dulled the agony of walking on the rocks.  
  
"Best area to jump from. Well, I say jump, but it's more of a slide." Castiel turned to face the ocean and peeled his thermal off. "I don't have any swimwear because, you know, normally it's just me, but we can - " Castiel's voice trails off as he turns back around. He's already stripped of his own t-shirt, thermal and shoes, but Balthazar was down to underwear now, staring at him. Castiel hadn't taken the chance to admire him since that first morning, out of respect, but - he felt a flutter in his stomach, running his eyes up and down approvingly. Balthazar's body is as slender as you can get without your stomach curving in, hipbones for holding and legs for _days_. Castiel's breath hitched and he had to turn away when images of those legs wrapped around his own waist started to assault his mind.  
  
"Right, uhm. I just, I-" Balthazar felt a small flush of pride as the back of Castiel's neck turned as red as his face had. Balthazar didn't think he was supposed to feel pride about that, but he did nonetheless. Unlike Castiel, he didn't take the time to fold his clothes; he sauntered passed the lighthouse keeper and sat on the rock Castiel had indicated, letting his legs touch the water before sliding down into it. It was like instant relief to his muscles, already so overworked they felt like they'd been shredded by shark teeth. He could hear Castiel yell something as he slid below the surface.  
  
The taste of salt on his tongue and water surrounding him made him feel...safe. At peace. Panic seized him suddenly; he was giving his whole life up on a whim, unsure if he'd ever be able to return. When he was human, he'd have no way to talk or breathe underwater, no way to see his family anymore unless they - those that could - chose to come to the surface at any point. But myamer and fyamer had been _angry._ He doubted anyone would want him to return, anyway.  
  
At least, he'd doubted till now. Till he's floating just under the surface, breaking every so often so Castiel doesn't panic, and sees a swirl of bright red and shreds of purple. Anna looks directly at him, pure fury, and turns; she doesn't swim away though, only crosses her arms. If she hadn't wanted to see him, she would've taken off, and he'd have never caught her now - not with his clumsy new limbs.  
  
Balthazar casts a glance up at Castiel; the man is on his back floating on the surface. He hesitates but can't resist, swimming over to her. She's turned from him and it's not hard to swim up behind her and give her a hug - something mer don't have.  
  
"Two weeks on surface and you're already messed up," there is confusion and hurt in her voice and sorrow on her face when he lets her go. "What was that?" Balthazar's gotten used to communicating in gestures and shrugs his shoulder. "Hmph. A benefit to your deal, apparently. At least one happens to be." The look he shot her was pure venom, but she beamed, giving her body a little twirl; her tail fluttered as she did so. "This is terror, you know. A deal-make with Crowls."  
  
Crowls. The seaspirit hated that name, but none of them had had need to deal with him, so none of them were afraid to say it. "Fyamer is say, you can come home. You know that. Crowls fears he and myamer." Balthazar hid the flinch at both the way she spoke and the mention of family. Two weeks and he was already unused to his own language. "They talk of you back home, you know. Things are said. _G'mar tchok lem_ ," and damn if those words didn't hollow him out. Mer had had a language centuries ago, but as any language would it evolved and only phrases remained, barely correct. G'mar tchok lem, trapped in weeds. A mer caught in the weeds was shark bait, unsaveable, lost.  
  
But he wasnt _g'mar tchok lem_ , lost though he may be. He crossed his arm and stared at her till her own shoulders relaxed and head bowed. "I am in fear for you, m’mer. To see you here is to sorrow." He offered a smile to her and took her hands in his, leaning to press her knuckles to his forehead. She repeated the gesture and sighed, then turned to look up at Castiel, who was no longer floating on his back. "Perhaps you should surface. I will not tell I have seen you, m'mer."  
  
If Balthazar had a voice, he would thank her. He settled for the press of her index and forefinger to his mouth, watching her retreat to the depths before heading back to the surface. Castiel, it appeared, _had_ noticed he hadn't surfaced in a while, and breathed a sigh of relief when he breached near the island. He swam towards him while Balthazar headed back to the rocks, not assuaged by Anna's visit. He'd rather not have seen _any_ of his family, that might've made this easier. After all, once he was human, even what magic he'd have wouldn't let him return to below without some kind of help. His family wouldn't give him any help.  
  
Castiel, perceptive and persistent bastard that he is, takes note of Balthazar's mood as he climbs back up and sits on the rocks. "Are you alright?" He sits near him, but doesn't reach out to touch him. This is probably done out of respect, but Balthazar just wants to be comforted right now. He's cut his own stomach and thrown himself into a sharkpit, he wants to know it wasn't a mistake. After a moment of trying to decide how to respond, Balthazar elects to stand - pulls his legs from the soothing waters, moves to gather his clothing, goes back into the lighthouse. Castiel will follow him eventually, he knows. He wants him to follow _now_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fyamer - father  
> myamer - mother  
> m'mer - child  
> uamer - doesn't appear in this chapter - uncle, my father's brother  
> ay'mer - my dear one


	3. my mind is an ocean, dark and clouded and deep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day late posting, but that's okay. Decided to rewrite the ending of the next chapter, so that may also be a day late. Hope the few of you reading this are enjoying it so far.

The first day of the festival rolls in. The large amount of people makes Balthazar uneasy but Castiel expects him to - as the man had put it - "socialize". Whatever _that_ was. Balthazar just chose to wander around, looking at the things people had at their booths; mostly trinkets, lovely looking shells or strange food. The trinkets and shells were pretty enough to look at, but nothing he couldn't find at the bottom of the ocean or in a wreck.  
  
It wasn't until he came to the last booth on the left that anything caught his eye. More trinkets still, and tiny statues, but they looked familiar - like they were from home. The person manning the booth put their hands down on the table and leaned forward, causing him to jump; if he had a voice, he'd have screamed.  
  
Raphael, his uamer, was staring at him. He'd always been unreadable and Balthazar didn't know whether to be terrified or confused seeing him. "Ay'mer," Balthazar cast a glance behind him at Castiel, who seemed to engrossed in chatting with two women to notice him, "I'd have thought you'd be miles from here by now. I suppose Anna did have reason to be here."  
  
Balthazar had never been good at hiding his emotions from authority figures. Raphael's features softened and he sighed, casting a glance around at other booths - it was still early enough in the day for no one to be there. Raphael reaches forward and flips a sign that was hanging on the front of his booth around. He lifts a wooden box up to cover the tchotchkes set out on the table before reaching down to grab something wrapped in rough cloth. "Walk with me," he asks, no force to his request. "You will be fine, I won't toss you into the sea. I just wish to talk."  
  
Balthazar glances back at Castiel again, who pauses in his conversation to look up at _him._ His heart races when Castiel smiles and waves; he smiles and waves back before turning to Raphael. Giving the mer a nod, he follows him away from the booths. "As you can guess, I spoke with Anna. She's a clever girl, but not as clever as you. Couldn't hide that she'd seen something, not from me. She...we miss you, ay'mer. Many of us. And I suppose she told you what they have been saying."  
  
Balthazar nods and swallows the lump forming in his throat. He crosses his arms as they walk while Raphael clasps his own behind his back. "You can forget this foolishness, Balthazar. You can return home. Crowley is terrified of your myamer, he wouldn't hesitate to break the contract."  
  
Balthazar knows this, because Anna had said exactly the same the day before. It's a tempting offer; he is of the sea, made of its salt and foam by Lir himself. But he'd made a deal, and he wasn't about to swim with his tail tucked and head low. He also wasn't going to leave Castiel behind - if he broke the deal, his fyamer and myamer would protect _him_ , but who'd protect _Castiel_? This was his burden, and he'd carry it.  
  
When he gave the barest shake of his head, Raphael sighed. "I didn't think you would, no. In any case," he pulled his hands and the wrapped object in front of him, pulling to a stop. "These are for you. For protection. Crowley would never make a bet he couldn't benefit from ay'mer."  
  
Balthazar accepts Raphael's gift, unwrapping it only enough to see what it was. Inside were two objects: a silver blade with no hilt, polished and smooth, and necklace. The latter was made of thin fibers sliced hair-thin and woven together to form a soft braid. It looped through a plain flat shell, golden in the sunlight. "This," Raphael ran a finger along the hiltless blade appreciatively, "is as much for protection as this is." The finger moved to touch the shell. "Humans cannot breathe underwater, and whatever magic you will have left in you will do you no good below the surface."  
  
"Balthazar?" Balthazar hurriedly wraps the dagger and necklace back up, turning back around to Victor. "Make a friend, man?"  
  
"Uh, yes. Actually. I just needed to stretch my legs." Raphael reaches out and takes Balthazar's hand, giving it a single shake before raising it to press the younger mer's knuckles to is brow. "I hope to see you again, soon, friend."  
  
"Meet some weirdos on this rock," Victor shakes his head as Raphael retreats back to his booth. Balthazar grunts, a sound made weird by the lack of voice behind it. "Speaking of weirdos, c'mon. Want you to meet some people, alright?"  
  
Balthazar nods and turns to follow, keeping a few steps behind. He unwraps the dagger partially, keeping the wrap around the sharper edge of the dagger and sliding the blunter, rounder portion between his t-shirt and sweater. The necklace he puts on, sliding the shell under his sweater. Wearing it gives him the feeling of being back in the sea, dulls the ache in his legs somewhat. He can't help touching it as he walks, a small part of him wishing he'd said 'yes' to is uamer. It's not until he hears Castiel's voice that that part is swallowed like a wreck in the sea.  
  
"Balthazar, I want you to meet some friends of mine. Uh, actual friends, Dean's family. This is Lisa," he's greeted by a pretty brunette who takes his hand and shakes it. The small man with him, who Balthazar can only guess is her m'mer, also shakes his hand; he looks a little bit like both Dean and his wife. "Not as bad as he is, I promise."  
  
"Oh, he's not that sour." Lisa smiles and playfully punches Castiel's shoulder. Balthazar likes her more than Dean already. "This is Ben, our son."  
  
"Also not as bad as Dean," Victor mutters. Lisa makes a noise of annoyance and Victor clears his throat, looking to the sky. "Oh, man, you _smell_ that? I am starving," he walks past Lisa, putting his hand on the back of Ben's head and mussing his hair up as he goes. Ben doesn't even spare a glance at Balthazar before turning to follow Victor.  
  
Lisa clicks her tongue and crosses her arms, looking Balthazar up and down in a way not that different from the way Castiel had when he'd stripped down. "What, Castiel? Where _my_ boys not good enough?"  
  
From the way Castiel hangs his head and rubs the back of his neck, Balthazar can tell this is not a conversation he wants the mer to hear. "Lisa-"  
  
"No, no, it's fine! If you'd just told me you were into the pretty, mute ballerina look, I'd have -"  
  
" ** _Lisa._** " Balthazar knows enough about humans to know he should probably be embarrassed by this exchange, but he's never been bothered being the center of attention before. Why should he _now_? "You are trouble."  
  
Lisa makes a humming noise. "And you are _smitten_ ," she seems proud of making Castiel turn bright red. "No I'm happy for you! I just never took you to be into-"  
  
" _Okay_ ," Castiel turns to Balthazar. "I am sorry, she has no filter," he apologizes, and turns back to Lisa. He grabs her shoulder and turns her around. "No more 8 am Bloody Marys, _idiot_." Lisa laughs and waves to Balthazar, leaving him alone once more. He _definitely_ likes her more than he likes Dean.  
  
Balthazar feel a tingle at the back of his neck at the same time as the shell on his chest starts to feel hot. His hand goes to his hip, where the blade is and he turns around to look back at Raphael's booth. He feels like his heart's dropped out when he doesn't see his uamer _or_ the booth - but does see a man, short and round and impeccably dressed. He's almost positive the shell is going to burn him when a person obscures his view and suddenly, it's cool and soothing again. The man is gone.  
  
Balthazar doesn't feel good about that.  
  
  
  
A storm rolls in that night, after almost everyone else has left. Dean and Victor stay long enough to help Castiel and Balthazar tie some things down or move them into the small shed to keep them from being washed or blown away. When they've departed, and Castiel's retreated to the top of the tower to check on things, Balthazar uses shears, twine and the cloth to cobble together a poor man's handle and pouch for his blade. He cleans himself off, dresses for bed, tries to relax but the storm outside of the lighthouse and inside of his head make it impossible even when Castiel comes down and joins him.  
  
His own fears and the maelstrom make it hard for him to sleep until the early morning hours, and he doesn't wake up until the sun is already up. He doesn't wake up until he feels the _shell,_ burning against him, warm like a fire. A moment of panic washes over him and he reaches under his pillow, finds the blade still there - can smell food cooking, can hear Castiel's voice.  
  
On weary feet and with so many scenarios running through his head, he makes sure the blade is secure against his hip before making his way to the kitchen. The warmth over his heart grows and grows the closer he get, until he's sure it's going to leave a burn on him by the time he's _in_ the kitchen.  
  
It's just Dean and Castiel, though, A box is under the window sill full of packages, food items that Dean forgot to bring before, earlier. "Hey, you're awake! Great. Finally got bacon." Castiel nods his head to the only other chair at the table. "And coffee. Twice as much this time, since you eat the beans instead of drinking it, like a normal person."  
  
Castiel seems to be the only one oblivious; Dean stares at Balthazar as he approaches the table. He stops halfway, though, as Dean lifts the coffee mug to his mouth and nods in greeting. He's smiling, but his eyes look like they're made of glass. A foot from the table and he finds he can't move another inch, his muscles rebelling, feeling like the world is going to be torn from under his feet. The mug never makes it to Dean's mouth. "Are you alright, darling? You look sick?"  
  
And - oh. Oh, _no._ That's Dean's voice, unmistakably and unreasonably deep. But it's hollowed, echoed, and in it Balthazar can hear hundreds of thousands - victims of Crowley, including himself. Including Dean. Castiel wouldn't have heard it, of course, he's just human, but Balthazar -  
  
Raphael's words haunt him now. He turns, unable to face the seaspirit, and goes back to the bedroom. Castiel doesn't miss _that_. The man follows him back after a minute, ignoring Dean's scoff. "Balthazar, where - Balthazar. I made breakfast, dude, come on. You've gotta eat."  
  
Balthazar manages to control himself and doesn't throw himself at Castiel. He sits on the bed, leans forward and shakes his head; no, he doesn't want to eat. He doesn't want to be near whatever that creature is in the kitchen. And he can't even _tell_ Castiel, can't tell him why - so he fumbles, remembers his lessons, signs out the words for 'sick', 'ill', 'no, please'. He wishes there was a sign for _there's a corpse at your kitchen table_. Despite the fact that his strength and will have been sucked from him he manages to pull himself back onto the bed more, to lay down - Castiel gives him a sympathetic look, goes to fetch a bucket.  
  
Dean is, most likely, dead. Lisa and Ben, too, probably, and Balthazar can't tell Castiel that. With a roiling stomach he realizes he may indeed be ill over it. He should've known Crowley would never let him get out of this.


	4. and i dream of the sea, there's no rapture for me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter took so long to update for two reasons:  
> -i was unhappy with how chapter four looked, so i rewrote it. big oops, it ended up being 11 pages; chapter five is going to be the longest chapter, me thinks.  
> -watching too much markiplier. he's a huge dorknuts, and i am in love. whoops.

Balthazar doesn't descend until two days later, after an uncomfortably large amount of time spent sleeping on the catwalk and getting blinded by the bright bulb behind him. "Dean" has left, returned, and come back; when he goes down, he's gone, but the lighthouse is full of the smell of coffee beans. Balthazar doesn't understand why Castiel drinks it, because the raw beans taste better to him, but he guesses this is because humans are weird and like to ruin things. Just like Crowley.  
  
"Well, look who decided to join the land of the living," Castiel doesn't glance at him, and there's no warmth to his voice. It makes Balthazar's stomach drop a little to realize Crowley might already be having an effect on him. "You can't live up on the catwalk, Balthazar. It's dangerous, I've gotten ships radioing complaints. And yes, actually radioing, because no one can call in."  
  
Balthazar casts a glance at the phone; he didn't have a purpose for it, but it was important to Castiel. "The storm messed up the cords," he goes back to his paper and his coffee. "Dean's out there now fixing them." As if to signal, there was a tapping at the window. Dean's head pops up and he looks right at Castiel, waving at him to come out. "I'll be back." Castiel folds his paper up and leaves the room, barely acknowledging Balthazar's presence. Balthazar digs into the cabinets and finds the open bag of coffee beans, taking out a small handful. If anything, he hopes, the boost of energy will wash away the grief he feels enveloping him. He should shower, probably, because smells like salt and metal and anguish.  
  
The first bean tastes funny, he realizes, but it isn't because the flavor is strange. As he sucks on it he just feels worse, despite the fact that it tastes better than usual. The second bean is even better in taste but makes the feelings worse and it's not until the fourth, where he feels so lethargic he wants to lie down and rot on the kitchen floor, that he drops them on the counter. He wills himself to spit the remains of the beans into the sink. They don't look any different than the beans Castiel usually has, the package itself looks the same. It's not until Balthazar cracks one open does he realize.  
  
The effect is brief, but visible. The inside of the bean gives off a faint purple glow and the heavy scent of seawater. Balthazar breaks five more beans and the all give off the same glow, same smell. He deposits the uncracked beans back into the bag, washes the ones he'd chewed and the contents of Castiel's mug down the sink, but doesn't rinse the mug out. He glances out of the window to make sure neither "Dean" nor Castiel are looking, then rearranges a few things in the cabinet, closes the door, and carries the bag to the bathroom. It takes a few turns to empty it and flush them all down and for a moment he does consider flushing the bag but knows it won't fit. Instead he lifts the lid on the tank and hides the rolled up bag in it.  
  
Balthazar doesn't know what was done to the beans but he hopes that at least puts a pause to it. He knows, though, knows he'll have to search all the food in the lighthouse to make sure because why stop at the coffee beans? Castiel eats things, a lot of other things, drinks different stuff to. The water in the tap could be messed with, everything in the fridge and pantry. The thought makes Balthazar's stomach churn but he can't help thinking it's his own damn fault. He should've been paying attention, not sulking.  
  
When he heads back into the kitchen, Castiel is searching the cabinets. "Balthazar, what happened to my coffee?" Balthazar looks at the mug on the table, but Castiel shakes his head. "No, I drank all that. My coffee beans. I thought I put them in here but - you didn't touch them?" Balthazar shakes his head; it's easier to lie, he realizes numbly, when his voice can't give him away. His face still can, though, and he points back to the cabinet, and then to the pot on the stove when Castiel shakes his head. "Not in here. And there's not enough in there for a full mug." He lets out an annoyed grunt. "Small kitchen, they'll turn up eventually."  
  
Castiel gathers his dishes up and goes to wash them in the sink, leaving Balthazar to stand in the door and listen to him talk. As he talks, his voice loses it's strange, gruff edge, softens into the soft, almost loving tone he uses for Balthazar frequently. He tells him about the storms knocking the phone out, tells him that it shouldn't have; that he's been running out of beans more, can't seem to stop drinking coffee. Dean hasn't left the island much except for at night to go home, which is odd because Dean's made his disinterest in Castiel very obvious to nearly everyone. Balthazar wishes Castiel had taught him to write instead of struggling to learn sign language - it's a romantic gesture, sure, but he's 110% sure, now, that they're going to die.  
  
He's startled by a grunt behind him and immediately moves as close as he can to the wall, giving Dean as much space as he possibly can. When Castiel looks up, his face still hasn’t softened, but Balthazar doesn’t need to stick around to see that. Whatever Crowley’s meat puppet has been doing to Castiel, it obviously needs to be constant. Balthazar’s already knocked one leg off the table.

He doesn’t look at Dean but makes eye contact with Castiel and tilts his head down the hall; maybe he can hide a few more hours in the bedroom, come up with a plan. Castiel nods and goes back to his task of cleaning, neither paying Dean much mind. Balthazar slipped past Dean and headed to the bedroom. Ideas buzzed in his head but he settled on only one: slip out of the window, head into the sea and try to find his family.

Because it wasn’t just that Crowley was trying to throw him off. Crowley liked to make his deals complicated – he liked the challenge. He liked the  _souls_  he got. No, what terrified Balthazar was the fact that Crowley was  _directly interfering_  with a deal he’d made. That wasn’t Crowley’s game. He was evil, sure – spit of Lir, made from ash as opposed to crafted from foam. Hot tempered and  _evil_. But he was  _honest_. Balthazar knew for a fact that he’d made the deal with Crowley for sure. But what if it wasn’t Crowley who’d enthralled Dean?

A chill runs down Balthazar’s spine as his hand encloses the doorknob. Before he could turn around a hand on the back grips of his neck and jerks him back. His assailant spins him around, grabs his upper arms and pushes him into the hallway wall just outside of the bathroom. Dean –  _no,_  he corrects himself,  _not Dean. Not **Crowley.**  _Whoever was piloting, they reach a hand up and grab his jaw with an inhumanely strong and painful grip. “Listen, fishfeet,” a thousand watery voices snarl at him. “I got news for you, something all your guppy buddies already know. The Undertow is under new management. And we don’t make bets we won’t win.” The other hand, the one still holding Balthazar’s arm, moves to Dean’s neck and pulls his shirt collar down.

Embedded into the skin was what looked like a clear glass egg with a pool of smoke at the bottom; with the tap of a finger, the smoke begins to rise. The egg becomes filmy, then bright blue, and crackles as though there was a storm inside of it. “See that?” His own voice speaks to him, louder than the rest. “That’s yours. That’s your voice. You’re never getting that back. Voiceless till the end of time. Which is a pity, I’m sure, as time has no end.”

As Not Dean taunted him Balthazar had reached down to his hip, where he’d kept the jagged blade Raphael had gifted him. He hadn’t thought, when Raphael had given it to him, that he’d actually be using it. Balthazar was normally  _opposed_  to violence and fighting. But it wasn’t Crowley he was dealing with, and he had no choice.

Balthazar raises the blade up and swipes it towards Dean’s chest. The cut it makes is superficial but the edges crisp and darken like the flesh has been burned, not cut. They bleed, too, but not blood – a watery black muck spills own and down the flesh. It enhances the scent of burning flesh.

Not Dean stumbles back into the other wall and Balthazar moves forward quickly, slicing wildly. He hits Dean’s arm, his shoulder, his stomach, all still more superficial wounds that ooze a thin black slime and smell like burned flesh. Not Dean had begun screaming by the second cut and he was swiping wildly, trying to knock Balthazar’s blade away from him.

Balthazar is poised to strike at the gem on Not Dean’s chest when his arm is suddenly jerked down and away. An arm loops around his waist and despite his wild struggles he finds himself being dragged backwards, away from Not Dean. He can vaguely, distantly, hear Castiel screaming at him to calm down, to stop fighting, but he doesn’t comply – he can’t, not when his voice is so close, not when he can finally warn Castiel.

Castiel, however, seem to know Balthazar won’t calm down. With a rushed apology, he takes his charge by the back of the neck and slams his head into the doorframe of the basement door. It isn’t hard enough to knock Balthazar out but the blinding pain that surges through his head certainly dazes him.

It gives Castiel time to get a better grip on Balthazar and pin his arms, and time enough to check that Dean wasn’t seriously injured in the scuffle. When he’s sure no one’s going to die, he drags Balthazar to the basement door. The angered and terrified mer hasn’t quite gained control of his body yet but he manages to put his foot down, catching it under one of the steps; it sends the two of them tumbling the last few steps, with Castiel landing on Balthazar –

-and Balthazar landing on his own blade.

Castiel isn’t hurt in the fall, though, and without a voice Balthazar isn’t able to let him know. Castiel untangles himself from Balthazar quickly and scrambles up the stairs, leaving the injured mer dry heaving at the bottom of the stairs.

Without his own voice to scream, without his scream to drown out everything else, the pain is the worst he’s felt by a thousandfold. Not even the constant walking-on-razors feeling in his legs the past few weeks matches up. His eyes are clouded by both pain and tears he reaches out and grabs the bottom step, attempting to pull himself up.

He can hear Castiel and Not Dean moving upstairs, hear their frantic voices. Not Dean insisting he’s fine, that he has no idea what happened, he just needs to sit. Balthazar feels like his insides are trying to leak out of the small wound in his side; Castiel can surely see the cuts on his friend’s skin, and no amount of banging will bring him back downstairs.

It feel like  _hours_  pass before Balthazar’s vision clears up any and he’s able to move. He drags himself away from the stairs, across the short basement to the wall. He keeps one hand on his injury, heaving and weeping silently. He realizes, dimly, that he is probably going to die.

But he also realizes, worse still, that  _Castiel_  is going to die. And he knows that’s partially his fault, that he shouldn’t have just struck at Not Dean. But he didn’t have a choice, and he doesn’t have a choice now. He doesn’t have a  _chance_.

He’ll be dead soon, he tells himself. The only thing that keeps him from crying more is the fact that he doesn’t think he has tears enough left to cry.

Balthazar thinks he might pass out, thinks he  _has_  passed out, when the door to the basement slowly opens. He can’t make out through the fog clouding his vision if it’s Castiel or Not Dean. He realizes, with a sinking feeling and terrible sorrow, that it doesn’t matter. He’s doomed. They both are. His selfish little wish and he messed it up so terribly and doomed an innocent person – he  _deserves_  to be trapped for an eternity. He  _deserves_  to have his soul taken. Castiel does not.


	5. never let me go

“Balthazar.”

The wounded mer manages to raise his head up. He  _should_  feel relief that it’s Castiel standing at the bottom of the steps, even if he’s looking at Balthazar like he’s trash right now. Cas holds his hand out and points to the bottom of the stairs. “I’m not coming close to you until you get rid of the knife, Balthazar. Put it on the ground and push it over here.”

If Balthazar had his voice, he would have  _laughed_. Instead he sits up as straight as he can, faces Castiel, and moves his hand from over where the blade has pierced his side. He hears a sharp intake of breath from Castiel, then slowly, slowly the man moves towards him. Balthazar knows he’s scared, and probably more scared than Balthazar is – unlike Not Dean and Balthazar, Castiel was an oblivious player in a very dangerous game.

Castiel finally crouches down in front of Balthazar. His hands hover uselessly over the wound in his side, and then up towards his face. Where the hand had gripped him earlier there was now a fresh, dark bruise across the bottom of his chin, across his cheeks and jaw. Castiel touches the lesser-bruised cheek but Balthazar still winces at that. If by some miracle they survive, he thinks, he’s going to have to be taped back together.

Castiel moves his fingers to Balthazar’s temple and slides them back into his hair. “Balthazar, did Dean do this?” He nods. “Is this why you attacked him?”

Balthazar nods again, then raises his hands up. He doesn’t remember very many of the signs; he manages to get out ‘not’, but he can’t sign Dean’s name, and it’s frustrating. Castiel pushes his hands down and asks, almost incredulously, “Not Dean? Are you saying he didn’t or – no.” Balthazar shakes his head, pulls his hands free, and signs ‘not’ again, and again, and again, until his hands are as sore as his jaw and Castiel suddenly says, “That’s not Dean up there.”

Balthazar sighs in relief. He knows Castiel won’t understand, not yet – but maybe. Maybe this can help them.

“Cas!” Victor’s voice startles them both. He stands halfway down the steps, his gun out and expression serious, but it softens when he sees Balthazar. “What happened?”

Castiel shrugs out of his sweater. “Hold this there, Balthazar.” He stands and turns to Victor. “What are you doing here?”

“Dean and Lisa are missing. Ben and their boat went a hundred miles up the shore but he said a wave came and knocked his parents off it.”

Castiel lifts a hand up to his head and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Well, Dean’s  _here_. Well. Not really – not De – ” He turns back to Balthazar and crouches down again, putting his hands on either side of Balthazar’s head. “I’m gonna shut the basement door, it unlocks from the inside. You’ll be safe, okay? Just don’t try to remove…that.”

Castiel goes to stand again but Balthazar catches his wrist. He holds up a finger –  _wait –_ and with shaky hands, reaches up and undoes the necklace his uamer gave to him. Raphael had said it would protect him, but if he was lucky, it would protect Castiel, too. He slips around the man’s neck, making sure it was secure; then he touches Castiel’s face, and tries not to cry again.

Castiel surely won’t understand the gesture, but Balthazar presses his index and forefinger to Castiel’s mouth anyway. He lets them linger for a moment, and after his hand drops, Castiel leans forward and kisses his forehead. “If something happens, hide. Do not try to help us. Okay?”

Balthazar nods, but it’s a lie. If either Castiel or Victor were truly in danger, his first thought was going to be helping them. He waits until they make their way upstairs and he hears the door unlock before he even moves however. He drags himself as quickly as he can manage across the basement floor, to the stairs, and it takes him longer than he’d like. But once he does what he’s planned, he won’t have enough time to crawl up the stairs. He might very well die because of it – a sacrifice he’s more than willing to make, if it means Castiel and the rest will live.

He listens intently to Castiel and Victor’s conversation. Dean apparently hasn’t returned yet, but Balthazar won’t waste time waiting. He has magic in him still, so long as he has breath, and he can locate the meatsuit quicker than Victor or Castiel could use the bathroom.

Balthazar moves Castiel’s sweater away from his wound, checking to make sure it wasn’t too bloodied. He puts a hand on the portion of his blade still protruding from his side, and slowly, carefully, began to slide the blade out. For once since this all started, he’s grateful not to have his voice, because removing the blade hurts just as bad as being stabbed did. There was no way he could do this without screaming.

Yelling breaks his attention and he almost jerks the blade farther up his side. Castiel and Victor  _were_  in trouble, he’d wasted too much time. Balthazar screws his eyes shut and tightens his hold on the blade, then takes a deep breath and  _pulls_.

Pain almost overtakes him again but he moves quickly as the yelling grows louder. He can’t heal the wound completely, gets only the worst of it sealed up, and then grabs the nearest wall he can and clambers to his feet. The same agony he felt in his first few days rushes back to him, he’s woozy and he almost collapses, but the door handle is in his hand and before he knows it he’s flinging it open, stumbling into the hall and then into the main living area.

Victor and Castiel are backed up to the door, and Not Dean is between them – but free of his meatsuit. Dean is in the corner unconscious, chest heaving and with many of the cuts Balthazar gave him exposed. But he’s alive, and that, in Balthazar’s book, counts for something.

 _One for three_ , he thinks, and turns back to what had been wearing the man.  _Definitely not Crowley._  It takes up most of the space in the room, tentacles branching out of its large back. The creature is solid, tangible, but it moves and looks like it’s made of smoke. Balthazar spins the blade in his hand and takes a careful step to the side, eyeing the tentacles, knowing a well-placed slice to the back will seriously incapacitate a handful at a time.

It seems wholly focused on Victor and Castiel, towering over them and inching its surplus appendages towards them. Balthazar scans the tables near him and finds two glass beer bottles sitting on a table within arm’s reach. He throws them as soon as they’re in his hands, one hitting the beast in the back and the other bouncing off its head.

It whirls around to face him and lets out a shriek that shakes the lighthouse violently. It snaps a tentacle towards Balthazar and he ducks, jumping and stumbling between more of them; he heads towards its left side and begins swinging at it wildly, hitting it a few times. Each stab results in another shriek, and tentacles go limp or fall off completely.

By the time he stumbles into Castiel’s arms only four out of the original twelve still flail and the beast seems distracted by its pain. Balthazar looks to Victor who’s staring at him in shock, and slams his palm against his own chest twice before pointing to Victor’s gun, and the monster.

Victor might be in shock, but he’s a professional. He nods, takes aim at the bright blue egg on the demon’s chest, and shoots.

Balthazar can’t hear the cry the monster lets out. The blue smoke fills his throat and lungs and surges through him, causes his wound to feel like it’s tearing again and his body to feel like it’s on fire. He still can’t speak, not immediately, and doubles over in Castiel’s arms – but after almost a minute he can hear Castiel and Victor talking again.

“I told you!” Castiel scolds his friend. “I fucking told – ‘shoot the goddamn blue thing’, what the fuck!”

“Man, how the hell was I supposed to know that would work?” Victor puts a palm to his forehead. He looks like he’s going to throw up. “This ain’t a fuckin’ video-”

Balthazar’s sure he was going to say ‘video game’, but he’s cut off by one of the remaining tentacles slamming into his stomach. He’s thrown into the corner, and before either Castiel or Balthazar has time to react they’re enveloped by smoke.

Balthazar feels Castiel being jerked from him and slashes wildly, unable to see in the burning darkness around him. The burning in his lungs was suddenly replaced by cold, his skin icy, and he realized the demon had dragged them into the water.

Balthazar knew he was human now, and had probably been human for some time. He can’t breathe underwater anymore and his flailing becomes wilder as he fights to escape to the surface. He feels like his arms are going to give out on him with so much swinging and swimming and struggling, like his legs might decide to quit. Every few feet farther up he went he felt them try to pull at his ankles and had to break free again.

When he breaks the surface he almost screams, frantically swims for the nearest rocks. The waters are dark and choppy but he can see the swirling darkness under and he panics. Castiel isn’t on the island, he hasn’t surfaced; Balthazar prays to Lir the necklace works for him, too.

Whether it does or not, he can’t abandon Castiel. Tentacles have already began to breach the surface hunting for Balthazar and each scramble to escape is a minute killed. Despite the burning in his lungs and agony coursing through his body, Balthazar made a deal, and he won’t let Castiel pay for his mistakes.

He glances back at the lighthouse in time to see Dean and Victor leaning on each other in the doorway, watching him.  _Two for three_. He needs to save Castiel. He ignores their voices yelling his name, turns back to the sea, takes a deep breath, and slides back into the water.

It’s even harder to see under the surface, but Balthazar has a plan. He swims towards one of the tentacles and lets it wrap around his waist, lets it squeeze him and drag him down. He doesn’t fight it and he doesn’t try to stab any of the others, though the hit him many times as he goes down farther. Holding his breath seems like an impossible task and he thinks he might explode from the effort – and then, he sees it. He sees  _them_.

The head of the demon and Castiel, struggling but  _alive_. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s underwater, which means the necklace is working for him. Balthazar almost opens his mouth to call to him before he remembers Castiel won’t hear him and probably doesn’t even see him.

Instead, he tucks the blade close to his chest as he’s pulled towards the gaping mouth of the demon. He can’t hear a thing underwater, but he can feel it’s shrieks and cries. He’s so close to passing out as he stares the thing down.

 _I am going to eat you,_  echoes in his head.  _I am going to harvest your soul._

Balthazar doesn’t respond. He’s conserving his energy.

 _Pity_ , the monster lifts a tentacle to wave in front of him.  _I was hoping for more of a fight._  It jerks him forward, into its mouth.

Balthazar clings to its cheek as all the water rushes down and away. It provides precious few seconds of air, or something that  _feels_  like air – or maybe that’s the fear in Balthazar, pushing him on. He’s shaky and freezing and going to die, but he’s not taking Dean or Victor or Castiel with him.

He takes a breath, and when the creature opens its mouth to swallow him again, he lets it. He lets the water drag him until he reaches the back of the throat, and then he uses his blade to stab into his throat. Black ooze and water spill over him at the same time and the farther down he’s swallowed the more savagely he cuts.

It is not a normal blade, and he slices the beast easily everywhere, like he’s cutting through air. Down its throat, into its fiery core, he slashes anything he can and feels the black walls around him convulsing. Balthazar doesn’t stop cutting until he feels hot innards give way to icy water.

He’s weak as he manages to crawl through a wound he’s created. He can’t hold his breath any longer and as he loses his focus, relaxes, he sees the monster drifting towards him and Castiel floating away.

_Three for three._

 

Castiel breaks the surface and can barely tell the difference between below the water and above. He doesn’t gasp for breath, doesn’t feel like his lungs are on fire. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have thought he’d been underwater.

He scans the surface for Balthazar frantically, but finds no sign of his companion. Without thinking or taking a breath he dives down, several times, and still sees nothing but darkness. After several dives he panics and heads towards the shore of his little island, clambering up, but Balthazar’s still not there. Victor and Dean, however, are up and near the shore; when Castiel surfaces they both move to help him.

“Have you seen Balthazar?” Castiel sputters. He can barely feel himself shaking.

“A few minutes ago,” Dean says as Victor shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around Castiel. “He came up like, five minutes ago, and he dived back down. We couldn’t stop him.”

Castiel’s chest finally starts to hurt, but not from lack of oxygen or overexertion. He tries to climb to his feet and lunge for the waters, but Victor grabs his arms and pulls him back.

“Stop!” Castiel tries to hit his friend, tries to break free. “Stop, stop, he’s down there, let me go! Let me go, Victor!”

Dean’s already moving to the shoreline. Castiel watches him shrug out of his shirt and kick off his shoes and slip in. He disappears beneath the choppy waves, only to resurface two minutes later. Still he goes back down again, but Victor is already sitting down next to Castiel. “It’s too late, man. It’s too late. I’m sorry.”

“He can’t be dead.” Castiel puts his hands on his head. “He can’t, he can’t, not after what we just saw. He can’t.”

“He was hurt, Cas. He got hurt worse, too, probably. I’m sorry.”

Castiel feels like the world is slipping out from under him. Beyond the confusion of what just happened – Balthazar was here, he saw him. He saw him floating away and he hadn’t gone back to grab him. If he was dead – he was dead, and it was Castiel’s fault.

He feels panicked weeping start to build up, but it’s cut off by yells, of all things. Many yells, many different voices, shocked him out of his stupor; Victor jumps to his feet first but Castiel moves to the shore quicker, towards the many heads breaking the surface near Dean’s discarded clothing. Dean is already back on the rocks, and reaching towards the people suddenly gathering around.

Castiel knows he should be more concerned with where the twenty or so people came from, but his questions die on his lips as he sees what Dean is reaching for.

Some of the people in the water begin climbing out onto the rocks and Castiel is stopped in his tracks at the sight of them, all very human looking until their waists. Any other time and Castiel would’ve fainted to see fish tails attached to human hips. Even as he watches those scales crumble away off the three men and one woman, though, he feels sicker at the fact that Balthazar’s chest was not moving.

“What are you doing? Help him!” The woman snaps. Castiel can hear the terror in her voice; she knows Balthazar, and she’s scared. But Castiel complies, moving to help Dean and the two younger looking men pull Balthazar from the ocean.

“Sit there. On your knees, put his head in your lap.” The woman orders. Castiel does as he’s told, and she points first to the younger blond man, then to the dark hair man. “Gabriel, there, next to him. Michael, in between him and Anna. Anna stay at his feet, Raphael – ” all three men took their places quicker than Castiel had and laid their hands on Balthazar gently squeezing his arms, his legs. Anna put her hands on his ankles and Castiel kept his on Balthazar’s head, eyes going from the horrible bruise on his jaw to his chest to the gaping wound in his side.

The woman who had ordered Castiel to help and kneel takes a trembling breath before speaking. Castiel isn’t sure if she’s even speaking English, she talks so fast, but he feels the cold flow from his body. The air around him slowly drops in temperature but inside he feels warmer and warmer, and not uncomfortably so.

He thinks his mind is playing tricks on him when he begins to see the air ripple against his breath. His peripheral vision darkens but the world above Balthazar’s chest grows brighter and brighter until it’s an icy, foggy blue color; the woman’s words are moving by quicker and more frantically.

Her voice suddenly cuts off. Castiel is terrified that whatever she’s trying isn’t working; everything he sees reflects the chilly, sorrowful glow of the air between himself and the newcomers. But it’s fading. It takes a brief and horrible moment for Castiel to hear unnatural whispers from the glow and realize,  _that’s Balthazar’s soul_.

Castiel isn’t sure if it will work, but he raises one hand off the side of Balthazar’s head. He touches his own index and forefinger to his lips and remembers the basement, Balthazar doing the same to him. He didn’t understand the significance then, but it’s an important gesture, and if Balthazar is going to die Castiel is not going to let him go without letting him know he realizes that.

He drops his hand from his own lips, down to Balthazar’s. They’re cold, dry and discolored. Castiel mourns the fact that he’ll never know what they feel like warm, and is about to pull his hand away when he feels a sudden and intense cold shoot through him. He feels like he’s swallowed the glow with how frigid he feels.

Castiel sees Balthazar’s first breath. He sees Balthazar swallow the icy blue, witnesses it reflected in his eyes as he takes painful gasps and begins shivering. The people around him let go of him, save for Castiel, who immediately shrugs off Victors jacket and helps him to sit up. His skin is frigid, but it slowly begins to warm up under Castiel’s touch and the jacket.

“I thought you were dead,” Castiel slips his fingers into Balthazar’s hair and pulls his head close, pressing their foreheads together. “That was stupid. That was reckless and stupid and you’re – ” Balthazar silences him with a press of his fingers – this time, three. Gabriel coughs loudly; obviously three fingers is something more intimate. Castiel reaches up with his free hand and pulls Balthazar’s away, lays it across his lap, then leans in to kiss him. He tastes salty sweet, like the sea, like coming home, and despite the chill of his mouth Castiel feels nothing but warmth.

This time, Dean coughs, and Balthazar and Castiel break apart.

“What  _was_  that thing?” Dean crouches down next to Balthazar and Castiel. All considering what had happened to him, Castiel feels he’s holding up surprisingly well.

“His name was Azazel.” Michael explained. “Crowls came to us and explained issues he has, issues with his types. Thefts, rebelling, they’re bad sorts. An evil one who does not play by the rules, and we almost were not here.”

Victor clears his throat and crosses his arms, looking about as comfortable as anyone there. Castiel almost forgot he was injured, until he puts his arms over his stomach. “Uhm, no offense to the naked people who just probably saved his life and a lot of paper work, but…what the  _hell_  is going on? I mean, like…what  _are_  you?”

The woman sighs, but it was a softer, more relieved sound. “I believe what we are is obvious. What  _happened_ , was a deal was made.” She narrowed her eyes at Balthazar, who buries his face into Castiel’s neck. “And someone interfered, and tried to take what wasn’t theirs to begin with.”

“This is Michael,” the woman repeated, gesturing to him. “He is…a brother, to Balthazar. Of sorts.”

“A brother?”

“Our words are very different from yours. Gabriel is also a brother of sorts. Raphael is his uncle, Anna is his hatch-sister, and I am his mother, Naomi.”

Victor scoffs. “You realize you gave birth to the biggest troublemaker under the sea?”

Naomi’s stern features took on a confused look, but Raphael put a hand on her shoulder. “That is a very curious story, and I’m sure Balthazar can explain it to all of you.” Raphael turns to the person in question, though his look is softer than Naomi’s was. “Who I’m sure has something to say that we’d  _all_  like to hear.”

Balthazar pulled his face away from Castiel’s neck. Castiel could’ve laughed at the precious deer-in-the-headlights look he gave, but knew that might cause trouble. He knew Raphael’s words were intended to push Balthazar into apologizing, probably for causing trouble and nearly dying. But he didn’t; instead, he looked to Castiel, and spoke for the first time in nearly a month.

_“Hi.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand that's it! It feels really strange to have completed a story.
> 
> It's also kind of open ended; you can obviously infer that Crowley wasn't the bad guy, but I have other stories that I'm working on so the likelihood of me writing a part 2 are low. Maybe some day, though.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed, and I'll see you in the next story. :)


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